The Waitress
by chunks
Summary: Fresh from running away from her excompany, Hermione ends up waiting tables at the most unlikely place under a different identity. Trouble, in the form of her exboyfriend and another fellow waiter,brings promising prospects. DHr
1. Pimm's and Fag

Chapter 1: Pimm's and Fag

She could see the sign clearly from where she was seated. "Believe only in peace and love". She snorted at the brightly painted sign, looking a sickeningly like multi coloured vomit. Or maybe she was just too cynical? Shaking her head, she went back to the survey she was holding in her hands. _Do you believe in love? _Of course she did, or so she thought. _Yes_, she scrawled, _no_, because babies born into this world are capable of evil, such as using a machete on a thief when he robs your house. Definitely not a good day, she mused. Cancelling both answers out she left a big black mark with the quill. If she scratched hard enough, she was sure marks would be left on the armrest that she was using to back the flimsy parchment.

She looked up from the parchment again, observing the reticent surroundings. She was the only one in the clinic (did you call it a clinic?) with its tacky blue and white striped wallpaper and too many posters of world peace and universal love. It was twelve, who would take time out from their precious lunch our to come to this place? Not only that, the plant alternated between indigo, lilac, lime and lemon coloured leaves once too often. The water feature spurted luridly coloured water at different intervals and if you listened hard enough, you heard the squeaking of dolphins in the background. What was she doing in this place? Oh right, rest and relaxation.

_How is your love life?_ Great, she thought. On account that her boyfriend just dumped her about two months ago. _When was the last time you had sex? _Five months? More? _A week_. _How is your work?_ Brilliant! She loved her work as much as she loved her shoes. Ah, shoes, she thought fondly. This was probably the only question she could answer truthfully. _Work is a wholesome experience for body and mind; it gives me great pleasure working in the company. _She added a small smiley face at the end of her answer.

_Do you think that you will end up finding your soul mate? _She laughed. Oh sure, soul mates, pool mates, what's the difference? Just a guy you meet on the street, you get into bed with him, and out he goes the next day. _Yes. _She surveyed her answers for the last time and wrote her name on the top of the sheet, handing it in to the receptionist at the counter.

Just then, something beeped in her handbag. She whipped out the piece of parchment that she carried with her everywhere. Oh crap, she thought, the Jay Ticks account. Frowning, she picked up her bag, hastily stuffed the parchment into her bag and went up to the counter. Another loud beep came from her handbag, but this time she ignored. It was probably Homer calling. Again. Asking for her whereabouts. Again.

"Hi, I know I'm here for the twelve fifteen appointment but is it possible if I rescheduled it to say, six this evening? Or maybe another day?" She said as sweetly as she could, at the same time pulling out a small book that kept all her schedules and more. "I'm sorry miss, but we can't reschedule you again. It's been the fifth time this month. Sophia says that you would really benefit from this appointment," the lady at the counter furrowed her brows and looked up from the logbook.

"Could you tell Sophia to just cancel it totally? I'll write her a check of fifty galleons and tell her I'm sorry." With an air of finality, she walked towards the door. "It will only take ten minutes. Just give me ten minutes to sort you out and you will not regret coming here. Pass me the paper she filled out." A voice from behind her came. She turned to face the Sophia. "Look Sophia, I really can't do this right now. I have an account to settle," she said as calmly as she could, looking at Sophia from the top down. Sophia was pretty enough, with her hair tied up loosely in a pony tail, hair kept away from her face to show a pair of perfectly tweezed eyebrows and only the most minute amount of lip gloss on her plump lips.

"Listen, this is a gift from me to you. Accept it, and I don't need any money for this," Sophia explained as she scanned through the paper she had just filled out. "Hermione, I think you're really in need for a massage."

"Sophia I'm dreadfully sorry; now is not the time."

"Ten minutes, Hermione. Just ten minutes and you can go back to your account. They won't miss you for ten tiny minutes, would they?" Sophia smiled warmly and grabbed her arm before she had a chance to whip out her wand and make herself disappear. Actually, ten minutes was a lot of time in Granger Time terms. There was something that everybody needed to know about Hermione Granger: she worked in blocks. Blocks of five minutes, to be exact. Bathe in five minutes, spruce and dry in five minutes, finished a report in twenty minutes, have a half hour meeting, and heck, she could have sex in five minutes. Ten minutes was precious time in which Hermione Granger could doze off and wake up feeling utterly refreshed.

Sophia dragged the afore mentioned Hermione Granger into a separate room. "Remove all of your equipment from your clothes, Miss Granger. This includes parchment, ink, quills, watches, and etcetera. Following that, please take off your top," she instructed. What harm could do if there was just a tiny piece of paper? Hermione shrugged and slipped a small piece under the mattress. "Now, relax Miss Granger as you close your eyes. Think of your favourite things. Men, shopping, anything," Sophia's voice travelled to her ears and Hermione smiled.

Sophia Kerb, one of her many customers that needed paperwork in order to set up a business, and one of the few who actually repaid her with something more than just money. Ah, Sophia Kerb. Hermione Granger could smell something in the air, joss sticks? It was thick and it was lulling her to sleep. Was that the whole point of a massage? So that the massager could do anything to the massaged with no restrictions? God, it was working.

She felt soft hands relaxing the taut muscles on her back, and the sweet smell of lavender. And then, something beeped. Loud. Her eyes flung open and she groped underneath the mattress for the parchment. Words were forming before her eyes. Bloody hell, she thought, Jay Ticks account really needed her now. And Artemis, and Homer? Shit. "Oh, Miss Granger," Sophia sighed loudly, "Weren't you supposed to have put them with your bag?"

"Sorry, Sophia. Urgent meeting now back at the office. I'll just take this as an appointment. The next time I'm free, I'll give your receptionist a call," Hermione Granger said as she hurriedly buttoned up her blouse and grabbed her bag. "It was quite nice actually." Were the last words Sophia heard before there was a bang and Hermione Granger was gone.

When Hermione Granger reappeared in the ladies, she desperately in need of a smoke.

* * *

"Can you believe this?" she yelled over the too loud jazz music that was blasting from unknown corners of the large room. The room was thick with smoke and too dark to see anything except the shadows of people moving. "This is an office party and even you're invited. And you don't even work for this company," she moaned.

Her friend laughed loudly to make herself heard. "I know what you mean. He's invited to all the huge successful parties with hugely successful people. And I just tag along because the invitation says 'and wife'. Hello, I work just under him," she hollered.

"I KNOW. Sodding chauvinistic ideals of the wizarding world. I'm actually surprised they still have these rules around," Hermione Granger screamed, "How can you stand this Ginny? Harry should know better. God, he's supposed to be my friend!"

"I can hear you, Granger. And it's not my fault. People invite me and I come. What can you say to free caviar and bubbly?" Harry appeared next to Hermione and patted her head. "It's NOISY," she shouted. And as easily as she said that, Harry held his wand to his throat and bellowed, "Turn the music down!" Almost immediately, the music grew softer. "Is it just me, or am I hearing things at a muted level?" Hermione mused and clinked her glass with Ginny's. Ginny giggled and sipped her drink.

Harry and Ginny Potter. Aurors for the Ministry and all round great friends at least to Hermione Granger. Famous for killing the Dark Lord, Voldemort and putting so many Death Eaters in Azkaban, the exact figures are still unknown. However, concerning the love of Harry and Ginny, it'd supersede the numbers any time. Hermione Granger wound a curl of her messy hair around her finger as she looked at the two of them. Married since the better part of last year, they still acted as if they were on a date. She sighed so loudly, the two of them looked up from their childish acts of tickling. "Why do I always end up having to watch you two have all the fun?" she whined and sunk deeper into the large lounge chair.

Just then, she felt a tap on the shoulder and looked up. "Hey there, I was just wondering if you were interested in having a drink with me?" A young man with brown hair and warm eyes asked her. "Already got one," she replied curtly and turned back to face the couple. "I mean, is it so hard for a decent man to walk up to me and ask me on a date?" she moaned. "What about the two of us going out for a proper dinner later?" the young man pressed, unfazed by his previous pick up line. "Not interested," Hermione said flatly, hardly turning around.

"No at all?"

"No."

"Not a single part of you wants to go out with me?"

"Nada."

"Even after I tell you that I've been watching you since I started working in the company and have finally picked up the courage to walk across the room to say hi to you?"

"Slightly stalker-ish behaviour don't you think?"

Defeated, the young man went back to his drinking buddies that were sitting amusedly at the bar. The moment he was out of sight, Harry and Ginny broke out in a fit of laughter. "I am twenty-six years old and I have yet to meet a single guy who does not think that a first date includes a trip to his bedroom," Hermione moaned again and covered her face.

"You hardly give them a chance, Hermione!" Harry chortled and pointed at a random direction of the room, "You just scared the balls off that one just now."

"Maybe that's why Ron dumped me for Lavender, because I was scaring him off," Hermione Granger, not prone to sulking, sulked and downed the rest of her drink. "Stop thinking about that, Hermione. Maybe Ron just didn't fancy you any more," Ginny patted Hermione's arm comfortingly.

"He could have stopped fancying me and told me before I caught him and Lavender doing you-know-what in the middle of the apartment that we both lived in," she retorted immediately and sulked further like a petulant child. "Forget it, I'm going to get another drink. You know where to find me if anybody calls," Hermione Granger waved her hand, "There's bound to be a place that would have a quieter environment than staying here."

With a swift movement she leapt out of the chair and headed to the bar, stopping only to sit on one of the swivelling chairs. "Pimm's please," she said and pulled out a few Sickles from her wallet. "Not up for a Gorilla's Fart then?" The bartender replied with a grin as he set about to create a glass for her. "A what tart?" Hermione asked, confused. "Gorilla's Fart, banana liqueur, vodka—" The bartender started off. "Ah no thanks, just the simple Pimm's cup with more Sprite please," Hermione smiled and handed the coins over to the bartender. "By the way, does this place happen to have a backyard, or a small plot of land with grass and fresh air?" Hermione leant over the counter and whispered into the bartender's ear. "Yeah, go through the double doors of the kitchen and just walk straight through to other side. You can't miss it. And here's Pimm's on the house. Nobody pays tonight," the bartender replied and pointed towards the kitchen. "Ebenezer Scrooge decides to be nice then," Hermione grinned and got off the seat sipping the drink. "Delicious, best Pimm's I've ever had. Just made my day, you did," Hermione commented, flashed one more smile to the bartender whom she just realised had the nicest set of white teeth she had ever seen, and the messiest mop of blond hair, and walked towards the double doors, half hoping that someone would stop her midway and ask her out. Was she really that desperate?

* * *

Draco Malfoy, in possession of the nicest set of white teeth Hermione Granger had ever seen, and the messiest mop of blond hair watched the unknown stranger turn the corner and disappear through the double doors. And then, he felt more than just a pair of eyes watching him. "Did you just try to flirt with her?" a young man demanded. Draco Malfoy arched his eyebrows and replied, "No, I just gave her directions and a glass of Pimm's. Anything wrong?"

"Well, don't try hitting on her. I just tried and she's a bloody sharp knife with her words," the man hiccupped and turned back to his mates, "Didn't I try?" His mates roared in consent and clinked their beers noisily. Beer drinkers, Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes. Draco looked at his watch out of habit. Twelve eh, good time for a fag and this place closes in about an hour. Or the party in the least. Stupid big man of big company asks owner of The Blue Room to rent the whole studio bar, along with its restaurant. Sure, it was a tidy sum of money, but at least treat the music of Ella and Louis with some respect!

Draco Malfoy sighed and walked out of the bar, heading towards the kitchen. Once inside he found the person he was looking for. "Blaise, it's your turn for the next hour or shorter. Can't stand the crowd," Draco pulled a face, " Unruly people who can't appreciate Mingus and Thelonius Monk should just not come here in the first place. It's a jazz bar for god's sake. I know blues is a type of jazz and some of the music out there is more bossa nova than blues, but it's a bar and restaurant that plays jazz. JAZZ. Wholesome jazz. "

Blaise Zabini, partner of the Jazz End and Draco Malfoy's best friend laughed. "Yeah, but what can we do when the big man offers so much for just four hours? Are you having your period by the way? Your mood swings are terrible." Draco Malfoy shrugged and pulled out a box of cigarettes. "What can I say? I like cold hard cash sometimes. The bar's closed though. Even you can't handle making cocktails, you'll probably end up drinking them by your poor sorry self. Just go out there and serve the food. Don't tell the boss," Draco glanced at the waiters rushing around, trying to settle the hors d'oeuvres. "What's there to tell, boss," Blaise winked at his friend, "Trying to get the one that just came here a few minutes ago?"

Draco shrugged again and clasped his friend by his shoulders. "She just might be the one. She actually asked me what a Gorilla's Fart was," Draco said sincerely. Blaise guffawed, "That's what you said with the one with streaks of purple in her hair last week, and the one before who had a nipple ring, and the one before who turned out to be a lesbian—"

"I get it, Blaise. I get the weird ones. This one might turn out to be a transsexual, but it's worth a shot. And by the way, somebody out there said she had a sharp tongue," Draco grinned and patted his friends shoulder. "So do these glib talkers make you shut up and listen or do they just provoke you to talk as they do?" Blaise asked as he picked up a tray of hors d'oeuvres, popped a piece into his mouth and immediately spat it out. "God, I can't cook," Blaise pulled a face and took a gulp of white wine from the bottle.

"And God, you're so ill mannered when there aren't any ladies around," Draco laughed and thwacked his best friend on the head. "Cover for me alright? Just for half an hour at least. Besides, the bar's closed. Just dish out the beer from the fridge and them larks will be happy. Wish me luck?" Draco looked at his friend hopefully. "You've got as much luck going for you as your ego. I'll make sure nobody goes in there," Blaise gave his friend a manly embrace and pushed him towards the black door that led out to the backyard. "Now go before she decides that her breather is over."

Draco winked and walked over to the doors. He gave a large push before the doors finally decided to open and a blast of cool night air rushed towards him. And there she was, sitting on the wooden table, instead of the two curved benches that faced each other forming a stoma opening. She was sitting on the table that stood in the middle of the stoma, smoking, her shoes haphazardly tossed to one of the benches, one hand fingering the smooth glass of her half empty drink.

Apparently she didn't notice for Draco Malfoy could walk over to her and ask her for a light before she tapped the end of her cigarette to the tip of the table. "No," was her offhand reply.

Ah, the backyard, or more affectionately termed The End. Boss and partner of the Studio bar cum restaurant had decided not to stretch the kitchen any further than they needed, and had set up for a small place for waiters and chefs alike to take a breather in between serving customers the special of the day or cooking up a flambé of some sorts. Ah the backyard, Draco Malfoy shook his head mentally, a small smile playing on his lips, remembering the time when he talked to 'the one' who had a piercing on her tongue apart from the many other places she had them on, or the time when the lesbian confessed that she was pretty much bi, and thought that Draco Malfoy was too good looking for her; and so many others that he was beginning to lose count.

He ran a hand through his hair whilst the other dug into his pockets for the cigarette box. Once he found the box he was looking for he picked out one and snapped his fingers. Immediately, a flame burst from the tips of his fingers and he stuck the cigarette into his mouth and lit it with ease.

He saw her watching from the corner of her eye, hardly fazed of course. If he knew the type she was, she would be hard to impress and anyway, it wasn't on his mind to get her impressed. He was more interested in finding out how she bit of the head of the young one back inside who was actually drowning his sorrows in cold beer.

"I know what you're thinking," he said and took a drag. "Of course you do, all men think they do," she replied smoothly. Apparently, she had said it one time too often. "I know that you think that I'm a huge prick whose only goal is to have a one night stand with you. And then, if it went well, maybe I would consider a second night, and the next night and the next. Well, believe me, I'm not," he said and sat next to her on the table.

"Hate pricks," she muttered under her breath. "Mm, the feeling's mutual. They steal the competition," he replied good-naturedly. "Aren't you the bartender?" Hermione Granger asked the blond haired man quizzically. "Why yes I am. And you're the one who told one guy to piss off," Draco replied, smiling. "He was stupid anyhow, to even ask me. Look at him! He's what, twenty? Twenty two max," she carried on, sighing as she took a drag, "Where did all the good ones go?"

"Down the toilet, killed, married, divorced, with kids, without them, drunk, shooting drugs, gambling, and most probably fat and tubby," he rattled on, counting them off his fingers. "So I take it that you're one of the afore mentioned ones then," she replied. "Nope, I just ran into a few consecutive bad attempts of hanging on to a girlfriend," he replied sadly, shaking his head. "Ah, don't fret. Nothing can be compared to a man whom you think you love and have loved for the past five years, and the next thing you know, bam, you find him on the apartment floor, and yours to be exact, teaching a girl whom you really thought was your good friend, more than just a few moves on the broomstick, if you know what I mean," she laughed casually.

"I guess you won't be taking him back in a hurry."

"Mm, guess not. Too big of a prat anyway."

"Well, that's nice. So what did the tosser do to you to ditch him in five seconds? I mean the one inside."

"Do you know what he said to me? Can I get you a drink?"

"Aw… bad move. Didn't see the drink in your hand I expect."

"Whatever it was. He wasn't my type. Too young, too clean."

"That's what men would see in you too," he arched his eyebrows and looked at the headmistress. Dressed in black from top to toe, black jacket, white long sleeved shirt, black pants. Except for her heels. Soft transparent heels with a graffiti designed strap and the longest black ribbons from both sides of each heel he had ever seen. "You sure they allow you to wear those to the office? The way I look at it, you're better off in the prosecutor's office," he grinned. "Laugh all you want, little bar man. You know naught of my shoes," she smiled back and leaned her back against his. "Comfy back," she said with her head inclined towards his. "Thanks, waiters don't get stressed shoulders making cocktails. By the way, you looked clinically depressed when you ordered your Pimm's."

"Ah about that, nothing. Works hectic and the company just got a new account about a month back and I'm in charge. I do this, and the chances of promotion are even greater. I'd be the youngest person yet to be on the board."

"So you're the power hungry sort."

"Not really. I just like working. Work keeps me busy and I like being busy. It's not that I'm stupid, but being intelligent is just part of it. Even if you were intelligent and didn't use it then what's the use?"

"So now you're the intellectual not so power hungry but does want to be recognized sort."

"Well, pretty much."

"You women are too confusing."

"So are men. You've got all these short cuts to everything. Get the girl to fall in love with you and then kick her out?"

"Hey, hey. Just to defend the male species, not all men are like that. My best friend and I do not ever, ever behave like that."

"You two are the weird ones. Are you two gay?"

"NO. Ouch that really hurt."

"Sorry, just checking. But it's not easy for women to just fall in love with some guy. There are risks involved."

"Of course there are. I had to risk talking to you and you saying I was gay, but I'm not. Let's just clear that misconception."

"Agreed. You're not gay, and I'm not either. I am absolutely straight. Ever felt that after not having sex for a while you don't see what's so good with sex?"

"Ah, that problem never occurred to men."

"Not a hasty generalisation then? All men like having sex."

"No, yes. No. Okay never mind. Risk taken when you said that though. I could have boxed you."

"Mm. I'm never the risky one."

"And who said that?"

"When I was in school. I was the smart one. The one who came up with logical explanations in everything and tried to keep the group out of trouble. The one who everybody came to for advise and the one who helped check their homework."

"Let me think. Your best friend or friends were guys."

"How'd you know that?"

"I'm not a guy for nothing. Atypical yes, but still a guy."

"I never took risks."

"Don't fret. Care to take a risk now then?"

"Risk?"

"I'm saying this at a risk of being kicked in the balls, but your body language says you would like me to do something more than just talking to you."

"Darn right I feel like kicking you."

"Hey, don't get too tetchy. I know what's on your mind."

"HAHA. That's a riot. You said that about ten minutes ago. So what's on my mind?"

"This." And before she could reply to the most ridiculous answer she had gotten since a long time ago, he had turned and kissed her softly on the lips, that made her feel like jelly on the inside. And the little voice at the back of her brain she never knew she had whispered _this one_.

For a moment there, she felt like slapping him, or hitting him where the sun didn't shine. That's what her brain told her to do. On the contrary, her arms found their way around his neck and his found their way to her waist. She was ridiculously ticklish and broke out into a loud giggle. And the moment ended there.

"You kissed me!" She eventually said when she could get over her fit of laughter, apparently still quite shocked about the passing events.

"You've got wild hair and even wilder shoes," he smiled back genuinely, as if it passed off as a good enough reason for kissing her. Yet, before they could carry on with anymore banter, her parchment beeped within her handbag.

"Shoots, that's probably my boss. I've got to go," she said, slightly upset but carefully trying to cover it up. Apparently, she didn't quite get it because he noticed it and leapt off the table and picked up her shoes. "Well, at least let me help you with your shoes whilst you entertain your boss," he said, slipping her right foot into the heel and winding the long ribbons around her ankle before deftly tying a loose bow.

"You're terribly kind," she replied sweetly, patter his head and got off the table herself, "Maybe we'll meet again if I ever pop by when I'm free. I really have to meet my boss now." He nodded and picked up the empty glass. "And I'll get back to the washing up." She nodded and walked through the doors as Blaise Zabini came out.

"Ah, Romeo! So how'd it go with the fair maiden?" he asked. "I am struck, oh Mercutio," Draco gave a feint gasp and grabbed his friend's hands, "By the arrow of Cupid. And dare say I have fallen." Blaise laughed and thumped his friend on the back.

My, was Cupid mean, for he forgot to bestow sense upon Draco who had forgotten to ask for her name. When he went out to search, his maiden had left the place along with most of the other guests except the young man who was still at he bar, plying himself with cold beer.

* * *

HA! So how's this one for starters? Review if you want to, because nobody can force you! But please do think on commenting if there's something you want to say yeah, (: 3 Ming.


	2. All in a Day's Work

Chapter 2: All in a Day's Work

"You aren't giving it to me." It was more of a statement than anything else. But then, she probably had the right to be angry. "I get the account, I settle their problems for a month, I rake in a few hundred thousand for the company and all you can tell me is 'Here take this one instead'?" Her voice had almost jumped another octave and was bordering on something out of the normal human hearing range.

"Look, don't get angry with me, Granger," the man on the other end snapped back, well, snappily, "I'm just relaying the message from my boss. If you don't like what you're hearing then take a number. I'm sure he'll see you in a week's time."

"You're telling me that I don't get promoted? After all that I'd put into that Jay Ticks account?" she shrieked into the envelope. Oh for God's sake, she moaned and nestled her head in her hands before randomly pulling at the few strands that had escaped from her ponytail. "Forget it, just forget it. I'll do the new account and maybe after that, Mr Harris would promote me. Thank Ian," she sighed, raking a hand through her hair. The envelope acknowledged her reply with a stern silence and disappeared with a poof.

Saying that Hermione Granger was tired was an understatement of the year. Her hair was turning into a nest for birds, tied up or not, her fingernails were bitten, toe polish scratched a faded pink, and even if she did get a fake tan from one of the shops, she would look like burnt raccoon.

Right now, Hermione Granger was feeling swamped. Her table looked like a sty and she could never find a quill when she needed one. As she surveyed the mounds of parchment in front of her, people back from an early lunch were filtering into the office.

She could hear Lavender Brown, yes, Miss Lavender Brown who had slept with her ex-boyfriend when they were still together (she would never forget the moaning coming from her mouth), talking about the new shoes that she wanted. "White espadrilles platforms from the boutique along Diagon Alley. They're absolutely beautiful with beige accents, but they're so terribly expensive." She smirked when she heard the office girl conversing with her partner. She could almost imagine Lavender Brown drool all over her legs if she one day paraded around in the purple with gold accent pair she had.

Hermione tapped the handle of her drawer with the tip of her wand and it popped open, revealing a stash of sweets that she was forced to keep and hide. Nobody knew of the box except maybe the cleaner, whom Hermione gave a few toffees to now and then when he came to neaten the stacks on her table. She was forced to hide it because they weren't allowed to eat at their desks, which, according to the boss, invited cockroaches and procrastination, both heavily unwanted. She was forced to keep it because Hermione, as much as she wanted to eat her lunch, could not. And a few wine gums and a bar of Mars would keep her going until it was time to go home.

Seeing that no one was at any of the other three desks in her room, she snuck a few lifesavers out of the tube and popped them into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. She was not over the whole throw-another-project-at-Granger bit yet. Her hands clenched into tight fists and she was close to slam them on her table if not for the parchments that would fly if she did.

Instead, she swiped the papers on her table with such force, that it sent a whole stack flying towards the door. The rest of it flew up and fluttered in the still air before floating gently back down to the floor haphazardly. Yes, Hermione was tired, and right now under immense stress. Hermione slumped down on her now empty desk. If she took the job, she would go into another stressful cycle, and end up getting grey hair prematurely. If she decided to pair up with another consultant, she would probably get less than half of the actual pay, but get more time off. If she turned down the job, she would have lots of time off and no money to get new shoes. Decisions, decisions she groaned and rubbed her temples. And then something caught her eye.

Something shiny in a plastic casing with a memo stuck to it: _Send by 14th_. Wasn't today the twenty-fourth already? And what was it doing on her table, wasn't it Lavender's job to pass this to the courier? What the hell was it, anyway? Hermione stood up, rubbing her sore bottom and reached down to pick it up. _Certification awarded to Jackson Bartlett Ticks_ and the rest of it followed. God, Jay said he got the certificate already when she called him up last week. That could only mean one thing: Jay had received a dud. And if anybody wanted to inspect the certificate for authenticity and found out, the company would lose millions, and she would get sued. _She was going to get sued_. Her company was going to get sued.

Hermione would have noticed the certificate if she had gotten it. Even with a messy table, she would have sent this for the courier to pick up. Hermione never missed a dateline and now she was going to get sued. She stumbled from her awkward position and walked towards the door. Just outside was Lavender Brown, still fawning over the espadrilles she would never get.

"Miss Brown, can I have a moment?" she asked, hoping that her voice didn't come out to strained. Lavender stared at her briefly and gave a pitying smile. "Could you give me a minute? We're in a middle of a conversation right now." God, she was insufferable. What kind of man was Ron to pick her instead of me, Hermione thought angrily. "Can I have a moment, please," Hermione repeated her question with a hint of steel in her voice. Lavender rolled her eyes at her work partner and crossed her arms in front of her ample chest. "Yes?"

Hermione pulled her to one side and held out the certificate in front of her, remembering to remove to memo. "Do you recognise this?" she asked Lavender. Lavender looked at the certificate and replied bluntly, "No. Do you want this mailed? I can always do it but you did not have to drag me out of the conversation to tell me about this. Hermione, you may hold a higher position than me, but we're the same age, treat me with some respect too…" Hermione zoned out from the conversation and stared at the certificate in her hand. Her mouth tasted of cardboard and all of a sudden, she felt nauseous. _No more stress,_ her little voice in the back of her head said cheekily. _No more paperwork, no more money, no more shoes, no more stress. No more money, no more shoes, no more stress. _

"Hold this for me, I've got something to do," she eventually croaked out, breaking the mini tirade from Lavender. And as Lavender called out her name to no avail from behind, Hermione did the only thing she could think of.

She fled.

* * *

At the other end of London where most of the shops were, Draco Malfoy was doodling. Not doodling exactly because he wasn't using a pencil or a quill. Draco Malfoy, bored as he was whilst waiting for a person, found a squeeze bottle full of strawberry sauce. If Draco Malfoy were any other person, he would have squeezed a bit onto his finger, licked it, adored it just for a moment, and then put it back. But you see, Draco Malfoy wasn't like every other person, and he thought himself as the next Michelangelo, or someone along those lines, and had created a very, very, beautiful picture of a –

"Dog, a dog peeing on a patch of flowers. How creative, Draco," his best friend snorted. Best friend, Blaise Zabini, had found something else better to do than draw sticky red lines on the concrete floor, mainly smoking and reading the latest magazine from FHM. "Who are we waiting for this time?" Draco asked as he concentrated on getting the bees around the flowers correct.

"Somebody who's apparently running half an hour behind schedule," Blaise replied and took a drag from his cigarette. "It's a Patsy Dinger. She's from Hampshire. She was the one that set up the restaurant two streets down. After they got her, they started turning tables twice, and a waiting list of three months."

"How much are we paying her?"

"Three hundred quid an hour. About a hundred galleons."

"Why are we doing this again?"

"Because, if she does hold to her end of the bargain, we're going to have a very successful bar, restaurant thing whatever you call it."

"I happen to think this bar is doing very well, and so is the restaurant. And you made my bee look like a wasp with the blotch."

"Whatever the bee looks like, you've got to face the facts. We've been making a loss for more than half the year and if we don't get this sorted out, we'll be forced to close it down. I can't fire anymore chefs and we still need one more busboy for the restaurant."

Draco pulled a face and put down the squeeze bottle. He whipped out his wand and muttered a simple spell. In no time, he had three red lined bees with smiley faces dancing around in mid air. Smiling, he propped himself up with his palms and turned his face to the afternoon sun.

He stayed in the same position for another five minutes until his turned out elbows hurt. After that, he swirled his floating creations into a small thick red pool and directed it to the bin. "If Patsy Dinger doesn't come in the next two minutes I am going to fire her," Draco finally declared and looked triumphantly at his friend

"Well, you can't exactly do that because we haven't even started, and if she doesn't come the bar's going to go. You know that right?" Blaise sighed and flicked the remains of his cigarette stick into the bin too.

And just then, when Blaise thought that all hope was gone and Draco was thinking about lunch, they heard a knock on the door. Going through the kitchen doors to the main entrance, Blaise hastily tucked in his shirt and smoothened his jeans. "She's here, Draco. Be prepared to be wowed," he grinned and opened the door as Draco hurried to flatten his fly away hair.

With a large smile on Blaise's face, he saw an outline of a woman's silhouette as the warm sunlight streamed into the room. "Hell—" Blaise started and then stopped.

Hermione stood at the door, smiling gaily at them, yet her hair tousled and heels in her hand. "Yeah, I look like hell, I feel like hell. Sorry, but I really do need a drink, I'll pay," she laughed it off and sniffled before pulling out her wallet and handing over a galleon. "I need a coke with vodka please," she said.

When both men kept silent, she fished out another galleon. "I know you're not open but I did remember this was the place that my company, or should I say ex-company held their latest office party," she carried on and looked at the two men expectantly.

"I know you, you're the one who chewed off the boy's head and smoked in the high heels," Draco said looking at her from top to bottom while Blaise said bluntly, "What happened to your face?"

She called them closer with a finger and whispered in their faces. "I'm on the run from the authorities. If they find me I'm going to be sued and lose everything I have and have my reputation destroyed."

"You're a pussy," Blaise snorted and threw his head back and laughed.

"Say as you might, I did not do anything wrong. I think. As in, I never had that piece of paper on my desk and I find it when it's already over due and I shouldn't have been there either, it's not my fault that it was put on my desk," she rambled on defensively. When she saw both men staring at her curiously, she stopped. "All I'm saying is that I'm not the one who did it. And until I can prove that I'm innocent, I have to run away. And I can't exactly run away if the authorities know where I am, right?" she stated matter-of-factly, "But before that, I need a drink, got one?"

"You're not high on crack are you," Draco said uncertainly as he walked behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of Vodka. He then poured it into a small shot glass and handed it to Hermione. "Never been on ice, coke, seaweed, anything. Cross my heart," Hermione swore and held up her three fingers.

"Were you waiting for somebody?" Hermione turned to ask Blaise. "Yeah, consultant for this place."

"Is she coming then?"

"What do you think? Do you feel her ethereal presence in this room?"

"No, what's her name?"

"Patsy Dinger."

Blaise heard her snort loudly into her hand before she cleared her throat. "Something wrong with your throat there," he asked pleasantly enough, for a man whom hated waiting.

"No, no," she smiled back gaily, "just that she's rather famous of being selective with her clients. I take it that you called up and put in an appointment with her secretary?"

The two men nodded and she laughed. "Well, if you two have been waiting for her to come, she won't appear anytime soon, for say, the better part of your life? She chooses her client really carefully. Only those offering her lots of money among other incentives," she coughed again.

"Ah. So we're not really her type are we?" Blaise replied in a slightly defensive tone. "But," Hermione carried on, "I can help you."

"Makes us look better and spruce up our rotting bank accounts? I'm not so sure."

"You look fine by me. What I do mean is that I can do the job, of course, it would come under a few conditions."

"What is the matter with you?" Draco snapped and glared at her, "You come in here looking like a vagrant, and then you tell us riddles and now you want us to employ you?"

And that's when the ever so cautious Hermione Granger just could not take anymore of this nonsense and started bawling; tear leaking from her eyes as her nose sniffled violently.

* * *

"You're Hermione Granger? The Hermione Granger?"

"So?"

"I wouldn't actually expect the likes of you crying in front of the likes of us. And pouring out your terribly, horribly, extremely bad day. Especially to the likes of us."

"Yes, in fact most of it came out voluntarily, did it not Blaise?"

Hermione stared for a while looking at the two bartenders in front of her. No wonder they looked so familiar. "Right, I'll just pay and find a hole to bury myself in," she announced and laid down the coin. Picking up her heels and handbag she headed for the door.

"Oh, you don't really have to do such a thing, Granger. We were just joking," Blaise called out and stood up to block her exit. "Indeed," Draco agreed, "Besides, it's not as if we're going to hurt you right? It's been what, nine years?"

"Hatred doesn't change into affection so easily, Malfoy. Besides, I'm sure you have other matters at hand to attend to."

"Granger, do you remember the times after the war? When the Ministry sent all of the Dark Lord's supporters to Psychology lessons? The whole brainwashing thing with 'Dark Lord is evil and Dark Lord is bad' thing?"

"So what. It's not as if you can say his name still can you?"

"Look Granger, nine years doesn't change an entire seventeen years of drilling does it? So we can't say his name, but at least we admitted to be part of a psycho group of murderers. And hey, we didn't actually kill anybody right? I mean, injure and hurt, but not actually taking someone's life. I didn't kill Dumbledore did I?"

"Yeah, and Granger, you'll never ever stop being bushy haired beaver to us like we will be Ferret and evil company to you," Blaise said affectionately and turned her round. "You forgot to waterproof your mascara today, didn't you," he laughed and handed her a tissue.

"I know it's going to be hard to accept, but we would really like to extend our hand of friendship," Draco pledged, " and besides, you kissed me, didn't you?" he added cheekily.

Hermione glared hard at the tousled haired blond with the best set of teeth she had ever seen. It was difficult, but she managed. "Fine, let's start working alright? You know Dinger isn't coming so why not just use me as your consultant? I'll help you and I'll make the fees cheaper," Hermione said eventually.

"It's your call Granger."

"I suggest stripping the whole bar façade and creating a small café."

The other two looked at her as if she'd gone mad. Maybe it was their call instead.

* * *

Okay! Haven't uploaded one till now, and I'm sure many readers are angry but at least it still came (: Have fun and cheers! 


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